Pulse still pounding in her ears, Brynhildr stood in her linen shift, watching in stunned silence as she grappled with the enormity of Freyja’s revelation.
“Save the enchanted armor and weapons for theSólhjartaTournament,” Yrsa advised, carefully storing the wrapped items in the large wooden trunk at the foot of Brynhildr’s fur-lined bed. “The shield will fit in here as well,” she said, indicating that there was sufficient room forFalkskjöldrinside the enormous chest. “But wrap it inside that deerskin first.” Yrsa pointed to a large hide, folded upon a wooden shelf.
Brynhildr tucked the soft leather around her enchanted shield, carried it across the pinewood floor, and laid it beside the wrapped corslet inside the trunk. “I’ll hangSólfalkrfrom this peg.” She looped the elaborate sheath which encased her magnificent sword onto the wooden stud.
Yrsa wiped her brow with a soft cloth tucked at her waist. She smiled reassuringly at Brynhildr, her blue eyes glinting like the sunlit sea. “Back into your green gown,” she murmured, fetching the garment she had carried upstairs from theseiðrchamber on the floor below. She helped Brynhildr pull the gown over her shoulders, lacing the bodice up the back. “Now, we shall meet Inga and Astrid in the weaving room and go together to the Great Hall fordagmál. You can tell yourfaðirthat you will obey him—and wed the champion of the Summer Solstice Tournament.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “Ifhe can best you in battle.”
* * * *
Four armored warriors, clad in chain mailbrynjaand conical helmets with nose guards, flanked the double oaken entrance doors intricately carved with ravens and runes. Bearded axes and belted swords were strapped at their sinewy waists, spears and shields—painted with a black raven in flight upon a field of deep blue— clutched in their gloved hands. As Brynhildr and Yrsa approached with Inga and Astrid, the guards stepped aside to allow the women through the wide open doors which led into the glorious Great Hall ofHrafnfjall.
Inside the vast chamber, flames roared in the central hearth which spanned the length of the royal longhouse. Vaulted timber beams peaked overhead, allowing smoke to exit through a narrow roof ridge. Bright blue shields with soaring ravens lined the wooden walls, banners with the black birds flapping like wings from the carved posts and broad crossbeams. At the far end of the enormous hall, King Budli sat in hisöndvegiupon an elevated wooden dais, the bronze inlays and carved ravens along the arms of the elaborate throne glinting in the sunlight that slanted through the narrow cliffside windows.
A Viking redbeard of fierce renown, Budli was clad in a woolen cloak of deep blue, the silver fox fur along the collar brushing his oxlike neck. A wide leather belt, adorned with ravens and runes, cinched the grey tunic at his waist, holding a sheath forHrafntönn, his majestic sword carved with head of a raven in the ornate hilt.
Black breeches were tucked into his rugged boots, the reindeer hide lined with fur and scarred from years of warfare. A silver brooch etched with the head of a raven fastened his fox-trimmed cloak, glinting atop his left shoulder. Budli’s long red beard was braided with lapis lazuli beads, the same gems that gleamed in the eyes of the ravens which adorned his throne, wooden posts, and massive silver. brooch. Swept back from hisscarred, savage face, the king’s long red hair was braided with blue beads like his thick copper beard.
As Brynhildr entered the room with Yrsa, her royalfaðirrose from his throne to greet them, as did thehúskarlar—the elite warriors who defended the Raven King and his clifftop fortress ofHrafnfjall. She spotted Ulric Ironshield at the high table, waiting for her. On his other side, herfaðir’sskáld Kjartan tapped a rhythm against his wooden cup, keen eyes calculating clever kennings andheitimetaphors for his entertaining poetic verse.
Budli’s bellow reverberated through the vast hall. “Welcome,dóttirand Yrsa, respectedvölva.Come join me. Now that you have arrived, we may eat.”
As Astrid led Brynhildr to the high table and Inga escorted Yrsa, servants moved swiftly, setting down bowls of steaming oat porridge with tart lingonberries, platters of grilled cod, loaves of freshly baked barley bread, wedges of soft goat cheese topped with hazelnuts and honey, and mugs of ale for all, with mead reserved for the king and his high table.
Brynhildr bowed slightly to herfaðir,as did Yrsa, Inga, and Astrid, before the four women climbed up the three small steps of the dais to the high table. At the king’s gesture, Brynhildr took her seat, with Yrsa at her side. Astrid and Inga, as personal servants to Brynhildr and thevölva, stood behind them and waited until they were served before descending the stairs and taking their place at a small nearby table.
A servant offered Brynhildr an elkhorn of mead, which she sipped while waiting for herfaðirto speak.
“I have sent heralds to neighboring kingdoms, announcing theSólhjartaTournament, which will commence the first of June and culminate on the Summer Solstice.” Budli downed a long pull of mead and swiped his bristled lips with the sleeve of his linen tunic. “There will be ten intense competitions, withfinalists dueling for your coveted hand. I expect there will be at dozens of entrants, for many noble warriors are eager to wed the beautiful Brynhildr, Princess of Hrafnfjall.” A boastful grin broke Budli’s thick red beard. He raised his elkhorn and nodded to Brynhildr. “You shall wed the champion. A warrior worthy of my shieldmaidendóttir.”
Brynhildr inclined her head and raised her own elkhorn of mead. “I shall obey myfaðirand king,” she murmured as she sipped from her horn. “But I wish to propose a challenge.”
A thrill raced up her spine at the intense spark of interest in Budli’sglinting gaze.
“I shall indeed marry the champion of theSólhjartaTournament—but only if he is a warrior who can defeat me.” She grinned slyly at her intriguedfaðir. “Let it be known that the champion will earn the right to challenge theSun Falconshieldmaidenin a single combat swordfight. Should he prevail, I shall wed him. But if he fails, theSun Falconshall be the winner of the Summer Solstice Tournament.”
Budli bellowed with laughter and raised his horn high. “So be it,dóttir min.My Sun Falcon shieldmaiden shall challenge theSólhjartachampion in single combat.” He downed his mead and swiped a swarthy hand across his bristled lips. “You will gain a worthy husband…or attract the attention of theAllfather.Either outcome honors us both.”
Brynhildr’s heart soared like the ravens overHrafnfjall.
Chapter 4
Three Gifts for the Sea Wolf
Lively notes from lyres and lutes floated through the festive air ofSjóbjorg,King Álfr’s magnificent royal hall perched atop the cliff overlooking the dark waters ofÚlffjorden,the Wolf Fjord named for his renowned Sea Wolves.
Beneath the high peaked ceiling of the majestic longhouse, rows of round oaken shields painted blue with fierce faces of snarling grey wolves lined the timbered walls. A roaring fire blazed in the central hearth which spanned the length of the enormous hall. Warriors, nobles, and honored guests sat at trestle tables on either side of the flickering flames, the tantalizing aromas of roasted boar dripping with honey, grilled haddock, steamed clams, and fresh barley bread mingling with the salty scent of the sea.
At the far end of the jubilant hall, the resplendent king sat upon an elevated dais in hisöndvegi,a towering chair of elaborately engraved, polished oak. Its high back rose above the king’s crowned head, carved with the snarling visage of a great wolf, its feral eyes set with glittering lapis lazuli gems that glistened in the firelight. The armrests of the oaken throne were also carved with wolf motifs, the curves of lupine paws and sharp curled claws entwined with intricate Nordic knotwork and interwoven runes.
Silver streaked King Álfr’s long dark hair and braided beard. His deep grey woolen cloak was lined with wolf fur, the silverypelt shimmering like the elegant embroidery at the collar, sleeves, and hem. An enormous silver brooch with the head of a wolf and eyes of lapis lazuli clasped the cloak at the king’s broad shoulder. The fine wool and thick fur draped over theöndvegithrone and complemented the rich blue of his tunic, a glorious tribute to the sea and the wolves he both ruled.
At King Álfr’s left sat Sigurd’smóðir,Queen Hjördis, her deep blue gown as striking as the lapis gems which glittered in the silver crown atop her intricate blonde braids. On Álfr’s right, in the place of honor, King Rögnvaldr ofRauðvikwore a crimson cloak trimmed with ermine fur, a silver crown adorned with blood-red garnets atop his white hair, scarlet gems braided into his long white beard. Beside the majestic king ofRauðvik—named for the red sandstone cliffs of his kingdom along the Skagerrak in southern Norway—his seeress Eldsjá blazed with fiery brilliance.
Thevölva’shauntingly beautiful face was painted gold with shimmering ochre. Black runes and swirling flames were inked along her swanlike throat, slender hands, and across the pale skin above the curved neckline of her gathered crimson gown. A bronze diadem upon her flaming red hair was embellished with a trio of enchanted stones—amethyst, amber, and garnet— which glittered in the golden sun streaming through the narrow windows in the wooden walls. Raven feathers, bone fragments, and rune-engraved silver charms adorned her long black cloak.Atop her gnarled staff of blackened wood carved with arcane runes sat a raven’s skull whose amber eyes glowed with otherworldly light.
Sigurd sat among the Sea Wolves at the table of honor near the royal dais. The grey-blue wolfskin cloakBlárúlfrdraped his shoulders, theÚlfklótalisman was tucked beneath his chain mailbrynja, and theÚlfhjartadagger was sheathed at his waist. He swallowed a mouthful of roasted boar and washed itdown with a long pull of mead, the contrast of salt and sweet dancing on his appreciative tongue. A thrill rippled up his spine as he glanced around the joyous hall. Tonight’s celebration was to honor him for becoming one of the nineSjórúlfar—theeliteÚlfhéðnarwolfskin warriors sworn to guard the fjords and maritime kingdom of his fosterfaðir,King Álfr.
Sigurd grinned at his beautifulmóðir, Queen Hjördis, seated beside her royal husband in an elegantly carved high-backed chair. Her throne bore the same wolf image as the king’söndvegi,but was smaller, with curling floral vines as a tribute to her beauty.
